


Unarmoured

by linndechir



Category: The Expendables (Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Clothed Sex, Drunk Sex, First Time, Frottage, Knifeplay, M/M, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5511587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year around the same time Lee gets even grumpier than usual. Barney isn't sure what's eating at him, but he figures Lee could do with some booze, some company, and a set of new knives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unarmoured

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> Dear thedevilchicken, I had a longer treat planned for you, which I didn't manage to finish on time. But I wanted to write _something_ for you, so this fic happened instead - I hope you like it. This technically qualifies as a bit of a Fast  & Furious crossover, which I thought you might enjoy, but I didn't want to tag it that way because the F&F characters are only mentioned briefly. For anyone else reading this: no knowledge of the Fast & Furious movies is required.

Lee had just reached the right state of inebriation in which he could feel completely sorry for himself without getting too angry at the world, when a knock on the door interrupted his brooding. There weren't a whole lot of people who knew where he lived, and none of them seemed particularly likely to show up on his doorstep unannounced. Unless it was his downstairs neighbour complaining again about the TV being too loud – she didn't seem to understand that it wasn't Lee, but the guy living next to him who apparently needed a hearing aid – he figured the most likely person to come by was Barney. Or maybe that idea was just preferable to horror scenarios of Tool dropping by to 'doodle' on his head or Toll Road wanting to tell him about his most recent therapy session.

Turned out he was right, and since Barney brought a bottle of not entirely terrible scotch, Lee decided that he didn't really mind. There were worse people to be around than Barney Ross, even when he wasn't in the mood for company.

Barney held on to the bottle, but handed Lee a small, black box while walking past him, the smell of his cigar wafting through the corridor. Lee heard him sit down on the couch Lee himself had been occupying until about a minute ago, and followed. Barney was pouring them both a drink – into the only clean glass on the coffee table and into a used mug – while glancing up at Lee, eyes on the box in Lee's hands.

“What's this, an early birthday present?” Lee asked, nowhere near serious because they didn't do birthdays any more than they celebrated Christmas (he didn't think he'd be able to handle the puns – one year they'd had a mission over the holidays and Lee had all but strangled Caesar by the end of it). He still opened the box, eyebrows rising when his eyes fell on four sheathed throwing knives in a neat thigh holster. It was hard not to be impressed by the knives' quality when he unsheathed one of them, the blade glinting in the light. He exchanged a brief glance with Barney before he threw it into the already ruined dartboard at the far side of the room – the knife was perfectly balanced. 

“I don't actually know when your birthday is,” Barney said thoughtfully and saved Lee from having to say thank you. Lee put the box with the remaining knives on the table before he grabbed the mug – felt like the least he could do, leaving Barney the glass – raised it briefly before he took a swallow of scotch and sat down next to Barney.

“About half a century after yours,” he replied. “Those are pretty damn good knives, though, so what _is_ the occasion?”

“You tell me,” Barney said around his cigar, and at some point Lee had grown used to his mumbling just like he'd grown used to the smell of smoke. He raised his eyebrows to get Barney to elaborate, and Barney shrugged. “It's mid-October. You're always grumpy – _grumpier_ mid-October. Brooding, bitching, whatever you wanna call it. I figured maybe it was your birthday, or maybe the kind of shitty anniversary we all collect in this business, and either way you could probably use the booze and the company.”

Lee stared for a moment because that was just … _nice_ , and nice was not really a word he'd usually associate with any of the people he worked with. Though Barney was probably the nicest of the bunch, somewhere underneath all the gruffness.

“And the knives?”

“You can always use more knives,” Barney said with a smile, raised his glass again and downed the scotch.

Lee followed suit, and they drank another glass – or mug – in silence, Barney smoking and Lee playing with one of the knives, and somehow Barney being there didn't bother him in his brooding half as much as he would have expected. He was oddly touched that Barney had even noticed that something was off, and wondered if he'd been that obvious or if Barney was that perceptive. Or maybe Barney just knew him a lot better than Lee thought he did, knew how to read him at least. They'd got along like a house on fire from the start, maybe because they'd liked the same kinds of missions and approached them in the same way, or because they had the same kind of humour, and somewhere along the way Lee had had to admit to himself that Barney had become his friend. Nobody who wasn't his friend would show up at his house with booze and new knives for no other reason than because he'd noticed that Lee was in a mood.

“The first mission we did together was in March, right?” Lee said another glass of scotch later, didn't wait for Barney to nod before he went on, “Mid-October before that was when I got kicked out of the SAS. On the 17th, to be precise.”

“I didn't know you got kicked out.” Lee didn't miss the surprise in Barney's voice. They'd never talked much about what either of them had done before the Expendables. Barney knew Lee had been SAS, knew he was damn good at what he did, knew he came recommended from the mercenary team he'd worked one mission with before Barney, and that had been enough. They weren't in the kind of business that required complete CVs and proper job applications.

“Wasn't exactly gonna advertise that, was I?” Lee shrugged. 

“Mission gone to shit and the brass needed a scapegoat, that sort of thing?” Barney asked because it had to seem like the likeliest option; they both knew a ton of guys who'd gone from the military to being mercs for just that reason.

“Surprisingly not. More like an officer with a grudge who wanted to be rid of me and had the pull to make that happen.” 

It didn't even begin to cover the kind of shitstorm he'd inadvertently stumbled into because he'd had no idea what it meant to get on the bad side of either one of the Shaw brothers, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to tell Barney the whole damn story. After the years they'd spent working together, he doubted that the details of his past would make any difference.

“Remind me to send him a thank you note,” Barney said. Lee turned his head just in time to catch the corner of Barney's mouth quirking up. “Wouldn't have you on my team if you were still serving Queen and Country, or whatever you guys call it on your island.”

Lee snorted. 

“Thanks for the sympathy.” He leant forward to pull another one of the knives from its sheath, fingers curling into the loop at the end so he could let it circle lazily around his hand. He wasn't even all that mad about what had happened anymore – he liked living in the States, he liked Barney and the rest of their team, and he missed neither the strict regulations of the military nor the shitty pay, the bad food nor the smug officers who all had either a stick up their arse or a chip on their shoulder. Truthfully, his life had improved in just about every way since his dishonourable discharge. He even liked his new name better than he ever had the old one. But the memory of getting kicked out after years of doing his job better than just about anyone he knew still stung, as did the memory of getting fucked over by someone he'd actually had a high opinion of.

“You know how you keep saying I've got trust issues?” Lee continued after a while, let the knife come to rest in his hand and finally looked at Barney again. 

“Among other issues,” Barney replied, but despite his glib tone he took the cigar out of his mouth and just looked at Lee.

“Yeah, you can send them a thank you note for that, too.” 

“Them?”

“Sometimes assholes come in pairs,” Lee said. To this day he couldn't decide which one of them he hated more – Owen Shaw with his model officer shtick that only lasted for as long as you didn't piss him off, or Deckard Shaw with his sociopathic possessive streak, like his little brother somehow needed protecting instead of being a damn menace even to the people unfortunate enough to serve under him. 

“They really don't, Christmas, unless someone tore you a new one,” Barney said because no heart-to-heart in the world would make them miss a jibe. Lee grinned and shook his head. After a moment he tapped the knife lightly against Barney's leg where it rested next to his, close to the knee and then once again further up. Barney's eyes followed the knife before he set down his glass, then drowned the stub of his cigar in it. It was almost an eerie thing, having Barney's undivided attention, but then Lee hadn't really been asking for anything less. Barney looked at him, dark eyes questioning as Lee's frown deepened. He kept tapping the knife against Barney's thigh, and for a minute the soft thump of metal against fabric was the only sound in the room.

“You ever fuck someone you served with?” Lee asked eventually. Barney's eyes widened a fraction, and Lee wondered if he'd bother to go for the obvious denial, that he'd rarely ever worked with women, so why on earth would he have slept with anyone he'd served with? But for all that they didn't talk about most things, they weren't really in the habit of lying to each other, and there was something in Barney's eyes that made him think he'd struck a nerve.

“Where did that come from?” And that was no kind of reply even if it wasn't a denial, so Lee pressed on. He tapped the knife against Barney's chest, the tip of the blade catching on the button tab of the plaid shirt Barney wore over his t-shirt. Barney didn't flinch, didn't even glance down at the knife.

“You ever fuck someone you served _under_?” Lee wasn't so drunk that he didn't wonder what the hell he was doing, fucking up the best thing that had happened to him in years because – because he had a point to make, to himself and to the world and to that part of his past that he couldn't stop brooding about, but he was just drunk enough not to stop, or maybe the reason he wasn't stopping was because Barney held still like he trusted him.

“I didn't do that,” Barney replied. “Didn't think they could kick you out for that sort of thing back in England.”

“They don't.” Lee grimaced a little. “Doesn't mean fucking around with an officer can't go wrong in a whole lot of ways.”

He didn't mention that he'd already had the good sense to know that back then, but that he'd actually liked Owen Shaw too much to be sensible; and he sure as fuck wasn't going to mention the part where he looked a whole lot like Owen Shaw's brother, the same brother who did the sort of thing that made the regular SAS feel like kids playing around in a sandbox. Certainly not the part where Deckard Shaw had ruined his career for laying a hand on his precious little brother or the one where Owen had seemed downright disappointed that Deckard hadn't killed Lee. There were things even Barney didn't need to know, not now, not ever.

The knife slid up to the collar of Barney's t-shirt, stopped for a moment before Lee tapped the flat side against Barney's throat. There was a small shudder that looked more like an involuntary physical reaction than anything else, and Barney's eyes were still calm. He shifted a little until his thigh brushed against Lee's.

“I'm not your CO,” Barney said, like he knew what it was Lee was asking. And maybe he did, maybe he'd known for a much longer time than Lee would have liked, since the first time they'd sparred or the first time Lee had all but taken a bullet for him or just the first time Lee had got drunk enough around him that he didn't remember not to look at him like he wanted to fuck his brains out. Because Lee kept forgetting that Barney always knew him better than he thought, always read him like he was an open book, old pages glued together, but the new ones obvious to anyone who bothered to look, and Barney had bothered. 

Barney smiled a little, and Lee might have been imagining it, but Barney all but angled his neck against the blade like it was some kind of weird caress. 

“Worst thing I'd do to you is let you down gently,” Barney added, looking smug like this was the most hilarious thing he'd come up with all year. And maybe Lee wasn't half as good at reading Barney as the other way around, but he still knew when Barney was taking the piss, and there was just enough alcohol and bitterness in his blood that he didn't have the good sense to laugh it all off. 

He straddled Barney in one fluid motion, knife still pressed against his throat, and this time he angled it until the blade pricked Barney's skin, the cut so thin and neat that Barney only flinched ever so lightly. 

“You sure you'd wanna do that?” Lee said. Maybe he should have wondered if he was going too far, but Barney made no attempt to push him off, didn't even try to turn away from the knife at his throat, like it wasn't even there. Or more like it was actually welcome.

“I'm pretty sure I wouldn't wanna do that.” Barney's voice never sounded not rough, whether from age or too many cigars or whether that was just how he'd always sounded, but it had dropped low like he was trying to sound less gruff, and just ended up sounding like he was already talking dirty to him. His right hand came to rest on Lee's thigh, the touch steady and warm. “You gonna stop messing about, Christmas, or do I need to write you an invitation?”

There was a long moment in which Lee genuinely considered pulling back, making a joke and having another drink and maybe teasing Barney about how he had to be pretty fucking desperate, and he knew Barney would just pretend nothing had ever happened because they were both good at that, with going on like this hadn't been looming between them for ages. There was no need to ruin a good thing, after all, no need to fix something that wasn't broken just because he had a thing for Barney's hands and Barney's voice and apparently some kind of weird fetish for wanting to fuck the people who were able to ruin his life.

But Barney's thumb kept pressing into his thigh and there was a challenge in his eyes, and Lee had never been any good at saying no to those, no matter how often that got him in trouble. He grabbed a fistful of Barney's t-shirt and sliced it open all the way down the front, the fabric tearing easily under the sharp blade, and Barney fucking _growled_ at him. Lifted Lee up like Barney wasn't twenty years older than him and an inch shorter, and even if Barney didn't do anything more than wrestle Lee down onto the floor, Lee felt more manhandled than the last time he'd fought someone two heads taller than him. And all the while he hadn't bothered to push Lee's hand aside, simply trusted him not to cut him accidentally, let alone worse, because he had to know that even somewhat drunk Lee's hands were as steady as ever.

Lee almost let go of the knife when his back hit the floor, looked up at Barney kneeling between his legs and shrugging out of his shirt and torn t-shirt. He knew he didn't need it, knew it as implicitly as he'd known for a long time that Barney would always have his back, or else he'd never have brought this up in the first place. And yet his eyes caught on the thin red line the blade had left on Barney's throat and he remembered how he'd shuddered under that cut, so he dragged the flat side of the blade once more over Barney's chest, this time on bare skin, and Barney's muscles rippled as he tensed up and bit back a groan.

“That what you gave them to me for?” Lee said and let the tip of the blade scratch over Barney's chest, nicking his skin just below the lowest lines of his tattoo. Lee still thought that tattoo was cheesy as hell, but it fit so well with the rest of Barney's weird skull obsession that Lee had grown used to the sight. If it had ever been a turn-off, it had stopped being one a long time ago.

“Not what I had in mind when I bought them.” Barney's fingers dug into Lee's thigh again, a bruising grip that Lee had no doubt he'd still feel in the morning. “Not that I'm complaining.”

“Didn't think you were.” Lee grinned up at him as he cut the thread of Barney's jeans button. This time Barney's left hand went for Lee's wrist and pinned it down to make him drop the knife, the small metal skulls of his thumb brace leaving dents in the thin skin on the inside of Lee's wrist. There was a brief struggle that ended with Barney still pinning Lee down with his weight, both of Lee's hands holding on to Barney's hips while he ground up against him like they were teenagers who didn't even get around to undressing. He figured the sensible thing would be to move this to his bedroom, get some lube and make it nice and slick, but sensible wasn't particularly high on his list of priorities, and there was no way in hell he was taking his hands off Barney.

Kissing Barney was weird at first, because it was Barney and because it had been a while since Lee had kissed a guy, but the scratch of Barney's beard made him groan and Barney tasted just like he smelt, and Lee realised he liked the smoky taste of his cigars a lot better on Barney's lips than he'd ever liked the cigars themselves. And it didn't stay weird for long; Barney seemed to have some kind of thing for pain because he moaned against Lee's mouth when Lee bit his lip, grabbed Lee's chin hard like he needed to make sure Lee wasn't going to stop. 

So Lee flipped them over – on the second attempt because Barney was heavy on top of him and knew how to hold a man down – and Barney just dug his fingers into the back of Lee's neck to pull him into another kiss, rough and hungry and straightforward like neither of them was worrying about having to make this good because just the fact that it was happening at all was good enough. Lee's fingers scrambled for the knife he'd dropped on the floor earlier, and Barney stilled when the blade returned to his neck, though his hand didn't let go of Lee's arse, kept Lee pressed tightly against him.

“You think you need that?” Barney asked evenly, just a bit breathless and frowning a little. He curled his fingers around Lee's wrist again, a light touch while his thumb massaged the inside of Lee's wrist, and Lee wouldn't have thought that'd be something he was into.

“I think you like it,” he said, because fuck if he was going to be the only one getting off on weird shit. He let the knife trail down and Barney's hand on his wrist made no attempt to stop him. The tip of the blade nicked Barney's skin in the hollow of his throat, a cut so small that Lee almost would have expected Barney not to feel it at all, but Barney's hips bucked up underneath him like Lee had licked all the way over his cock.

“You're a sick bastard, Christmas,” Barney laughed, and Lee didn't think he'd ever heard Barney sound embarrassed.

“I'm in good company then.” He didn't let himself get distracted by Barney's hands unbuttoning his jeans, just placed another, longer cut on Barney's chest, from the lowest line of his tattoo down to his nipple, and Barney's swearing failed to sound even the slightest bit angry. Lee looked down at the red, bloody line on Barney's chest, right next to a knotted, old scar that had already been there when they'd first met, and a much neater scar that was only visible because it was stark white on Barney's tanned skin, a scar from that time Barney had dragged Lee out of a building that was crashing down around them and got shot in the process, and all his stupid heroism had simply meant that Lee had to carry his arse through the jungle for the next ten miles.

He bent down to run his lips over the scar just as Barney's hand found his cock, his touch rough and demanding, and Lee only realised that it was Barney's left hand when he felt leather rasp over his cock. Barney didn't bother to mess around or tease him, and his hands were a lot more nimble than Lee ever would have given him credit for. Barney's cock was leaking when he got it out of his jeans, neither of them bothering to undress further than that, his hands tightening around both their cocks while Lee rubbed against him impatiently. 

He felt Barney's sharp intake of breath when Lee ran the tip of his tongue over the cut on his chest, shuddered at the low moan that left Barney's lips when Lee's teeth grazed the nicked skin. Lee had his fingers curled into Barney's hair and Barney made no move to resist when Lee pulled on it to bare his throat again, pressed the blade back against it and felt Barney tense up underneath him as he tried not to buck up against every touch. 

“Don't seem to be the only one who likes this,” Barney commented, and he would have sounded amused if his voice hadn't dropped to a low growl. No way Lee could have hidden how much having Barney under him got him off, Barney's throat bared under his knife because Barney trusted both his intentions and his skills more than Lee thought anyone else had ever trusted him. Lee closed his eyes briefly, let his forehead rest against Barney's until Barney turned his head so his lips brushed against Lee's ear when he added, “Maybe I should turn the tables next time, put a gun under your chin while I let you rub off against me.”

Lee came over Barney's hands with a gasped “fuck” and something that sounded almost like a whimper to his own ears. Barney's hand was slick with come when he kept stroking himself, the tip of his cock rubbing against Lee's abs, and Barney couldn't stay quiet either when Lee's hand joined his own and squeezed hard.

“Under my chin, huh?” Lee pulled back enough to look at Barney, didn't want to miss the impatient look on his face. He pulled the knife back from Barney's throat and tapped Barney's lips lightly with the flat side of the blade. “You could just put the barrel in my mouth.”

If Lee had felt like he was being easy, the same was true for Barney, eyes falling shut as he came, and if Barney's voice hadn't already finished Lee off just before, the deep groan he made now would have. Lee finally dropped the knife, let his weight rest on top of Barney, cheek pressed against his, breathing in the smell of sweat and smoke. 

They were a mess, Lee's shirt wet with come and clinging to his stomach, stained with blood, too, from the shallow cut on Barney's chest, both their jeans only pushed down as far as had been absolutely necessary. Barney looked at him like he wanted to eat him alive when Lee rolled off him, and if there'd ever been any concern that this had been some kind of pity fuck to cheer Lee up, that look would have done away with it.

Barney picked up his ruined t-shirt, gave Lee an exasperated glance before he cleaned himself up with it best he could and tucked himself back in, not that it made him look much more respectable with his bare chest and his hair clinging to his forehead. 

“Finally,” Barney said after a while. He already sounded like himself again, cool like nothing in the world could shake him, up to and including his partner and second-in-command climbing onto his lap with a knife and a hard-on. “Here I thought I'd have to keep waiting around for Christmas.”

Lee groaned and glared at him, then kicked his shin half-heartedly. 

“And I was just about to thank you for not making any comments about Christmas coming early this year.” 

“That would have been too lazy.” Barney looked downright smug. “Come on, give me some credit.” 

Lee shook his head and yanked Barney's torn t-shirt from his hands to clean himself up as well, took off his own shirt because in its current state it actually made him feel _less_ dressed. A minute or two passed in silence, both of them catching their breath, Lee trying hard not to think about all the ways this could fuck them up now or in the future.

“We okay?” Barney asked eventually, and Lee hated that he sounded concerned of all things.

“I don't know; are we?”

“Long as you lend me a shirt, sure.” Barney got up an stepped behind Lee, his left hand finding the back of Lee's neck. He squeezed and massaged it lightly, his thumb brace digging into Lee's skin, and Lee wondered if Barney had noticed that, too, how much Lee liked the sensation of the leather against his skin. “You gonna go back to drinking and brooding?”

“Drinking, maybe,” Lee said. He didn't stop himself from leaning back against Barney's leg and into his touch. “You ruined the mood for my brooding, though.”

“So sorry about that.” Barney laughed softly. “I'm gonna go use your shower. If you haven't got back in the brooding mood by the time I come back, maybe I'll stay a little longer.”

Lee stayed on the floor until he heard the water running in the bathroom, glanced at the open bottle of scotch on the table, at the grubby mug and the glass that had Barney's cigar stub in it, and decided that he probably should be done drinking for the night, too. And maybe the smart thing would have been to throw Barney out as soon as he was done showering, but Barney had been right. He wasn't his CO, wasn't even Lee's boss as such, and even if he had been, the most important thing was that Barney wasn't a backstabbing bastard who liked to fuck with people's head for the fun of it. 

Lee picked up the knife from the floor, cleaned it carefully before he put it back into its sheath, and followed Barney to the bathroom. The door wasn't locked, invitation enough if Lee had even needed one, and if Barney grumbled about the shower being too damn small for the two of them when Lee joined him, well, Lee wouldn't really have expected anything else.


End file.
